


Drabbles

by ayjee



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 19:32:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7696612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayjee/pseuds/ayjee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Fallout 4 drabbles. See chapter titles for ships/characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Old world blues (Nick Valentine, Sole Survivor)

Nico knew the song the moment the accordion picked up in fast, goofy notes; an old pre-war favorite, and a Diamond City Radio essential.

“Dance with me,” she blurted out.

Nick raised a thin, drawn-on brow. “Now? _Here?_ ”

“Humor me.”

He chuckled. “Whatever you say, boss.” The skeletal hand caught the lantern’s light as he put his cigarette down. It still got to her, how natural his movements were; almost gentle.

She laid her head on the shoulder of his worn-out coat and hummed approvingly. The song’s tempo was slow, easy; they swayed without effort. She hadn’t danced in… forever, it seemed. Last time was probably at the office’s Christmas party. Payroll guy – Eugene? Eude? some french name – had been trying to dance with her all night. She wouldn’t have minded so much, had he been able to look into her eyes instead of staring at her chest. All this while slurring how great she looked and what a blessing motherhood was.

And yet. What she wouldn’t give right now to relive that night, stale canapés and everything. Nate’s smirk against her temple as she asked about Shaun. _Do you think he’s alright? No, I do trust Codsworth, but…_ She tried so hard to sound casual, but Nate knew, or course. Patted her bum and called her a crazy mama bear.

She found herself craving Nate’s scent, the distinctive mix of cologne and musk she’d chased so many times down the line of his throat. Familiar. Granted. Gone.

Her eyes stung.

Nick’s hand tightened around hers, briefly. “Chin up. We will find him.”


	2. A day in Boston Airport (Sole Survivor, Piper)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piper questions the sincerity of sole survivor Ned’s engagement. How dare.

“Hey Piper,” Ned called.

Piper shrieked and flailed, sending her cigarette flying in a shower of embers. She made a dive for it, crawling under the airport seats to retrieve the lost puff, a string of _no_ running from her mouth.

After some frantic rummaging, she turned to face him, an accusatory frown on her face. “Damnit, Blue! You scared the crap out of me!”

Ned shook his head in disbelief. “In this? You’ve gotta be joking. Thought you could hear me all the way from the landing platform, with that clanking.”

“Well I didn’t know it was _you_ ,” Piper grumbled. She dusted her hands on her knees, the salvaged cigarette dangling from her mouth. “You guys in armor all look the same to me.”

“That’s harsh,” Ned said, one hand on his chest. “What about my shining personality? Isn’t it enough to tell me apart?”

She shrugged and sat down again. Joining her, Ned fumbled with the controls until he could take the helmet off, and breathed a sigh of relief. Piper’s gaze lingered on him – curious and intense as ever.

“I don’t know how you do it. Spend hours in that thing. It’s noisy and looks uncomfortable as hell.”

Ned smirked. “As long as it prevents me from getting killed,” he said, running a hand through his damp hair, flattened by hours of helmet wear, “the Brotherhood doesn’t care about subtlety.”

“Understatement of the century, Blue. I just hope he’s worth it.”

“Who?”

“The Paladin, who else?”

A strand of his hair caught in the armored fingers’ joints and Ned hissed in pain. “What are you on about?”

“I’ve seen you when he’s around. You’d wag your tail if you could.”

“Now you’re just talking crazy, miss Wright.” Ned let out a short laugh and leaned back in his seat; the furniture creaked ominously under the extra pressure.

“Come on, Blue.” Piper’s eyes crinkled over the smoke of her cigarette. “What kind of reporter would I be, if I didn’t pick up on that kind of things?”

“It’s not like that,” Ned mumbled. Not for lack of trying, but there would be no living with her if he admitted as much. “And anyway, this is a personal matter. I’d appreciate it if you kept it that way.”

“You already sound like him,” Piper said smugly. She stood and stretched. “So. Ready to head out, Blue?”


	3. [Danse liked that.] (Sole Survivor, Danse)

“You’ve done this before,” the Paladin said out of the blue. They’d been walking in silence for the better part of an hour – well, as silently as the power armors allowed. Meaning, not much.

Ned turned to his new companion, brows knitted in confusion. “Sorry?”

"Used a suit of armor. Most people keep tripping over their own two feet when they start wearing one. But you didn’t.”

“It’s like riding a bike,” Ned said with a grin. “I told you I have military background.”

“You did. People say a lot of things, though.” Paladin Danse’s eyes narrowed. “We’ve run into a lot of mercenaries in scavenged power armor since we arrived in the Commonwealth. They were good at shooting things, but I wouldn’t call them soldiers. Figured you might just be one of them.”

_Well, don’t hold back._ Ned let the pang of annoyance come and go. “I didn’t steal it, if that’s your concern. Salvaged it from a crashed vertibird – I didn’t think anyone would miss it.”  
The Paladin tilted his head. “T-45. A lucky find, if an outdated one. But I don’t remember this particular headlamp.”

“It’s a recent addition,” Ned said, giving the red hedlamp a light knock. “The old one broke and needed replacement.”

“And the padding?” Paladin Danse asked, one finger pointed at Ned’s chest.

“Effective against Raiders’ Molotov cocktails.”

Something unexpected happened then – the Paladin’s stern face broke into a smile. Fucking sunshine through the clouds. “I’m impressed,” he said before setting out.

_Stop the presses_ , Ned thought as he followed in the Paladin’s footsteps. And bless the helmet that hid both his eye-roll and the heat that had crept up his neck.


	4. Debriefing (Danse, Kells)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foreshadowing and quiproquo aboard the Prydwen.

Danse had intended to wait for the new recruit just outside of Knight-Captain Cade’s quarters, but decided against it once he remembered just how thin the walls were in that area of the Prydwen. As he made for the command deck, he couldn’t help but overhear what should’ve been a private conversation.

“Interspecies fraternization? You lost me here, Doc.”

“Intercourse with non-humans,” Cade explained patiently. “Ghouls, super-mutants, synths… This is no joke, Knight. It happens more often than you’d think.”

Danse frowned as he climbed down the ladder leading to the command deck. Johnson was way too flippant about this. The man had potential, but he needed some sense knocked into him, ASAP.

A raid in a mutants’ hive, maybe. That should do the job, Danse thought as he opened the door leading to the flight deck. Lancer-Captain Kells was there, cap tipped low over his face to protect his cigarette from the pouring rain.

“Paladin.” Kells gave him a brisk nod. “Dropped your blue-head already?”

Danse refused the offered smoke and looked at the grey waters of Boston’s inner harbor below them. “He’s doing his medical check with Cade.”

Kells nodded absently. “I hope you’re right about him. Our previous interactions with locals were complete disasters.”

From what Danse had gathered, Johnson hardly qualified as a local, but it wasn’t his place to share another’s man story. Especially when he had limited knowledge of it at best. “I’m confident he can be a great asset to the Brotherhood. He’s got gunshooting skills, is in good shape and doesn’t question orders.”

“Sounds too good to be true,” Kells smirked, tapping the ashes of his cigarette out. “Tell me, is the hanging tongue part of the package deal?”

Danse stiffened. He’d noticed that trend in Johnson’s attitude, but had dismissed it as typical authority worship – and most importantly, he hadn’t expected others to pick up on it so quickly. He really needed to get out of his head more. “Sir?”

“I don’t blame you,” Kells said. “It makes for a comforting presence onboard. Keeps you warm at night.”

“Sir.”

“Just make sure he doesn’t shit on deck,” Kells concluded, flicking his cigarette over the railing. “Wouldn’t make your protégé look good.”

Danse’s brows raised in slow realization. “You mean the actual dog.”

“Well, yes.” Kells gave him a puzzled look. “What did you think I was referring to?”

Better end this before he made an even bigger fool of himself. “Nothing important. Lancer-Captain,” Danse saluted quickly before operating a strategic retreat.

Johnson and his damned pooch had better be ready to depart when he made it to the main deck.


	5. Commonwealth foods (Danse, Sole Survivor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They don’t make ‘em like they used to.

“That is revolting,” Danse declared as Ned ate another candied apple straight from the box. “How can you, of all people, stand to eat that filth?”

Ned frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t you miss fresh foods? _Real_ fruits,” Danse added, pointing at the faded label of the Dandy Boy Apples,”vegetables? Legumes? Apparently these were common before the war. I thought someone used to such luxuries would have a hard time adjusting to the wastelander’s diet.”

“You got the wrong guy,” Ned said with a smirk, turning the apple slice between his fingers before shoving it into his mouth. “I’ve always loved junk food. Living on canned goods is no big deal for me. But you’re right, fresh foods were… well. Available.”

“You never ate home-cooked dinners?” Danse’s obvious disappointment made Ned wonder about the pre-war tales he must’ve grown up with.

“As in, food prepared by a human? Not really. Codsworth cooked most of our meals. It was just easier that way,” he added, tilting the box to get the last crumbs of candy. And, because he didn’t feel like listening to yet another transmit of _Look Where All That Technology Got Us_ , “Nora cooked for special occasions. Thanksgiving. Christmas. She had a knack for it.” The house filled with the smell of nutroast and spices. Nora with her hair up, in that ridiculous pastel green apron, front covered in flour and chocolate stains.

Danse’s voice shook him out of his thoughts. “Did you ever cook at all?”

“I made pasta.”

Danse snorted.

“I’ll have you know it was delicious,” Ned said with mock indignation. “Ever heard of pasta with greens and stout?”

“It sounds disgusting.”

“Don’t knock it till you try it,” he said brightly. “I’ll cook for you. Someday. If you want me to, that is.” Aaand he was babbling. 

“I’ll look forward to it,” Danse replied with his usual solemnity. How he managed to make even the most trivial line sound so intense, Ned had no clue, but it ended in clogged, aroused thoughts for him all the same.

Ah well. This too would pass. Right now, though, Danse’s eyes on him were not helping. Time to retire for the night, have one off the wrist before getting some much-needed sleep.

It was a long way to Sanctuary.


	6. If it ain't got that swing (Sole Survivor, Piper, Danse)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one was totally inspired by one of [Buggirl's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Buggirl/pseuds/Buggirl) prompt fills on tumblr – there’s something about Danse in Duggout Inn that begs to be written.

Usually, Ned would part ways with Paladin Danse in whatever settlement they found on their way to Diamond City, but tonight he thought he’d make the world a better place by introducing the man to the wonders of civilization. A drink in a crowded place, a bit of music, conversation with civilians and, if he was lucky enough, dancing.

“You’ve got to admit the Prydwen’s common room got nothing on this,” he shouted, trying to drown out the sound of the jukebox.

“Let us agree to disagree, soldier.” Danse was smirking, but made no move to leave.

Excellent.

He’d just started tapping his feet to the rhythm when Piper crashed between the two of them, eyes shiny with excitement. “They’re playing our song, Blue!”

“Keep an eye on my drink,” he called over his shoulder, following Piper to the dancefloor. If you could call it that. More like the only space in the room without furniture, a strange mix of slippery and sticky thanks to spilled beer and cigarette ashes. Cheap and dirty, like everything in Diamond City.

Ned didn’t care much for the place, but it was Piper’s favorite and he loved dancing with her. She was his kind of partner: skilled enough to pull off some pretty technical moves, careless enough not to worry whether she looked good or plain silly. Deceptively strong, too. How she managed to hold his weight with these scrawny arms never failed to surprise him.

“Okay, I should go back to my date,” she laughed against his ear, a couple of songs later. Or ten. It was hard to tell when they got into it.

He sighed dramatically. “Sure, go back to Laurie… Rosalyn. Whatsherface. She’ll never spin you like I do.”

“It’s _Rosie_ ,” she said, pinching his arm. She winked at him. “Good night, Blue. Enjoy Mr. Tight-Ass.”

“I will,” he said, wiggling his brows, before he made his way back to the bar.

He half-expected Danse to have left, but the man was still there, nursing his second, no, third drink.

“Sorry about that,” Ned said, climbing on the stool next to his. “I lost track of time.”

Danse made a non-committal noise. “You’re lucky I already handed in your evaluation. I would’ve hated to report you for disorderly conduct.”

Ned snorted. “It’s called dancing, Paladin. Believe it or not, it’s actually legal.”

“Dancing? Looks like a lot of ass-wiggling to me.”

“A good thing we’re off-duty, then. But I’m flattered you took notice.”

Danse stared at him for a moment, then set to examine the bottom of his glass with great interest.


	7. Her (Shaun, Father, Madison Li, Sole Survivor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three conversations about Nora Johnson.

**1.**  
“Tell me about my mom,” Shaun asks. Father doesn’t reply right away, eyes on the temperature-reading device he’s holding so the tip is resting against Shaun’s temple.

“98. Nothing wrong with you, young man. Doctor Li worries too much.” He stands, shaking his head.

“Now. About your mother… I would tell you more, but I feel like this isn’t really my place. Your father is due to arrive soon.” He gives Shaun a warm smile. “Best to ask him, don’t you think? It has been a while. A heart-to-heart with your father will do you both a lot of good.”

**2.**  
“Tell me about my mother,” Shaun asks. 

The woman’s livid, hands balled into fist in the pockets of her lab coat. “You put me in a difficult position, Shaun,” she says, motioning for him to sit down. “Did anyone see you? Does your father even know you’re here?”

“He’s not,” Shaun starts. Doctor Li shushes him with a wave of her hand.

She takes a long, hard look at him, and then sighs. Shaun knows the look on her face. It’s not sadness; it’s pity.

“I only know what I read in the records. You’re not going to like it.”

**3.**  
Shaun kept her picture close since the vault dweller gave it to him, along with a few stories about her life. Probably a bunch of lies.

“Here,” he says, returning the worn photograph. To Ned’s confused look, he replies, “It’s not mine.”

Ned breathes hard, shaking his head. “It could still be.” He sounds in pain. “Look, I know you’re angry, but keep it for now. Please?”

He’s a liar and Shaun hates him. He’s also Shaun’s only family left; whatever twisted version of family the Institute gifted him with, anyway.

Shrugging, Shaun tucks the photograph back in his pocket.


	8. Brush Pass (Sole Survivor, Doctor Carrington)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to inquisitor_tohru for the speedy beta <3

“Could you maybe tone down the hair?“

Charmer stopped buttoning her shirt to throw him a glance over her shoulder.

“What?”

“Your hair. The color stands out.”

“That’s the point.” She didn’t say “dumbass”, but he saw the smirk tug at the corner of her mouth.

“It draws unnecessary attention to you.”

She winked. “Does that bother you?”

Did he really have to spell everything out? A good thing her visits were few and far between. “It does, actually. We value discretion above all else, as you may remember.”

She shrugged. “It’s not like I have to worry about the Institute anymore. Or is my career as a decoy over already?”

He pressed the tips of his fingers against his temples, hoping to keep the brewing headache at bay. “Tell me you’re joking, and know better than to underestimate them.”

She made a show of rolling her eyes before sitting in his lap, shirt still undone. “I thought you liked the pink hair.”

“Irrelevant,” he snapped.

She traced a seam on his coat. “So what if I’m spotted above ground? The Institute knows I’m involved with the Railroad, one way or another.” Her nails raked the line of his throat. “They just assume I will betray you over them, and not the other way around.”

“Or maybe that’s what they want you to believe. Who knows?” The sneer didn’t carry so well with one hand splayed against her back, though. She shot him a look of disbelief and burst out laughing. As if fraternization alone wasn’t bad enough – he was nowhere near assessing whether she would betray them, should push came to shove.

She touched her forehead to his, her shoulders still shaking with laughter. “You’re such a sourpuss.”

“You’d hurt my feelings, if I had any.”

“God forbid.” She leaned in to whisper in his ear, “Want me to fuck that mood out of you again?”

Carrington doubted he had it in him, and the catacombs’ peculiar bouquet didn’t exactly invite lingering. It wouldn’t be long before someone noticed he’d left his desk for more than five minutes anyway.

“I think we both have more important things to do,” he said, but made no move to stand.


End file.
